Today We Eat Cake

7:00 am - My phone dings with a Facebook message. My friend Robin reminds me that she has not forgotten and she will be eating cake with me, in memory of my boy. 

I curl up in a ball, wrap my arms around my middle and rock. I tell myself it's okay if I need to stay in bed today. 

8:19 am - My phone rings, a call from my boy's best friend. We talk, share news. He tells me he thinks of my boy sometimes,  when he hears a song or sees a movie, but it's easier to just not think about it. He says he knows it will be a hard few days. I assure him I'll get through it. 

I don't know if he called to comfort me in my grief or because he needed comfort.  But it helped. I can move again. 

9:21 am - My phone dings with a text from my sister.  She asks if we will be eating chocolate cake tonight. I tell her we will and she wishes she could share it. I send her the recipe so she can make her own cake. The more people who eat cake today the better. 

I began to make cake. I move like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my back. Bent, stooped, slowly.  I make cake by rote, while tears leak from my eyes. 

11:32 am - My phone rings. "How are you doing?" he asks. I can't answer. I just sob. 

The cake is in the oven and I am curled up on the couch, under a blanket. Moving takes too much effort. 

A few minutes later he stops by to drop off a tub of frosting and some peanut butter cups for the cake. He holds me while I sob. 

12:18 pm - I send a text. "Can you guys stop by after school?" My littles tumble through the door. Quarantine be damned. I need them. They ask what I need. I need them to eat cake with me. 

1:35 pm - Big boys stop by after work. What do I need they wonder. I need them to eat cake. For a little while there is noise and laughter and stories while children scoop ice cream and eat cake. I hug each of them. I tell them I love them. Life is fragile and fleeting.  We need to cherish these moments.

2:23 pm - Alone again I scroll through Facebook.  My friend Robin has shared a blog post of mine, to honor my boy and remind the world that life is short and we can make a difference.  I begin to sob again. 

Curled up on the couch, tucked under a blanket, a kitten in my lap, tears leaking from swollen eyes. I have no words. No one to reach for comfort. 

Grief is quiet this year. It is personal, solitary. 4 years, 4 birthdays, 4 death days, 4 Christmases, 2 high school graduations, a wedding and so much more. Without him.  Time does not heal wounds. It does not dull the ache. It just makes the howling pain quieter, softer. There are no words, because they've all been said already. Grief still swallows me whole and leaves me gasping for breath. 

It's Okay Not to Be Okay

It was almost four years ago when my son died. People gathered around. My phone was dinging and the doorbell was ringing.  People brought pasta and presents.  My heart was broken wide open and all the kings horses and all the kings men showed up to put me together again. 

Over the last few months, one of my kiddos has struggled with mental health.  The official term is suicidal ideation. Depression. Anxiety. Thoughts of suicide. Followed by the creation of a plan. And then attempts. Yes, attempts. With an s. Hospital visits. Psychiatric assessments. Referrals. Diagnoses. Hospitalization. And finally, treatment. Medication. Therapy. 

I love my kiddo and I was determined to respect their process. I asked what they needed. I asked what I could do to help. I was there when they cried. I gave suggestions. I watched my kiddo fall apart.  Eventually, I called 911 and we got the help we needed. 

Through it all, there were no people or pasta. My heart broke all alone in the dark. I had no idea what to do or where to turn. All the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put us back together again, because no one knew we were falling apart. 

Now if you have been following along the last four years,  you know I talk about all the hard stuff. But this was done in silence, mostly. My kiddo did not want me to share with their father or their siblings. My kiddo did not want to talk about it with their friends. My kiddo did not want to go to the hospital or see a counselor. My kiddo was afraid that people would think there was something wrong with their brain, something wrong with them. 

Sound like stigma you think? 

My kids are the best. They have loving parents.  They get good grades. They show up to work. They are polite and respectful. They don't get into trouble. They don't do drugs. There is no history of trauma. They have everything going for them. And they struggle with their mental health. 

They do have a family history of mental illness, that nobody wants to talk about. 

So here is my public service announcement... 

Mental illness is an illness. 

Brain chemical imbalances can't be fixed with warm fuzzy thoughts. 

People who talk about anxiety, depression, suicide, are not looking for attention. 

Suicide is not taking the easy way out. 

It is okay to ask for help. 

It is okay to cry. Man, women, teen or child.

It is okay to take medication. 

It is okay to get therapy. 

It is okay to ask for what you need. 

It is okay to not be okay. 

It is okay to talk about not being okay. 

I will always encourage you to check on your people. Reach out, send a text,  make a call, tell them you love them, have hard conversations. Because if you don't reach out to them, they won't reach for you and you just might lose them, never knowing that they were drowning in the depths of their own pain. 

Fundamentally Flawed

My core shame - I am deeply, fundamentally flawed. I don't think I am the only one who carries this. On the outside it looks like I have it all together. On the inside,  I hate me. I wonder, how can it be, that anyone could love one such as I. 

Flawed. 

Broken. 

Unworthy. 

Shame says that it is all my fault. Shame assigns guilt and blame. 

Abused and neglected as a child? Someone that not even a mother could love. 

Molested or raped?  You asked for it wearing clothes like that. 

In an abusive relationship? You picked him. 

Over worked? Why do you let people treat you that way? 

Having an affair?  Why do you stay?  Where is your self respect?  

Overweight? You have no self discipline. 

Messy house?  You're just lazy. 

There is a never ending litany of all the ways that I just don't measure up.  

It's all my fault.

Fundamentally flawed. Unlovable. Unworthy. 

The thing is,  when something is fundamentally flawed, it is not fixable. No matter what I do there will always be that part of me that isn't good enough. A child that not even a mother could love. It colours everything I see,  everything I do. 

Shame says that I don't blame you for not loving me, not picking me, not wanting me, not forgiving me. 

Shame says I understand why you leave me. 

Shame says I can't get too close, because then you will see it, that flaw that taints me. 

Every now and then I think I could be happy. I think I could be loved. Then something reminds me, that I am flawed, unworthy and unlovable. 

Shame swallows truth, light,  love and joy and leaves me floundering in the dark, alone. 

Make a Difference Today

What did you do today?  Something? Anything? Nothing? 

Did you make a difference today? Did you make the world a better place?  

Did you slow down and let someone go in front of you in traffic? 

Did you smile at a stranger?  

Did you hold the door open for someone? Or help carry a package?

Did you reach something on a high shelf? Did you clean up a spill? 

Did you tip your server? Or did you cook someone dinner? 

Did you say thank you to anyone? 

Did you give someone a compliment? 

Did you hug a child?  Or read a story? 

Did you put out bird food? Did you plant a flower? 

Did you carry a bug outside instead of killing it? 

Did you pet a rescue dog? Or let a rescue cat nap in your lap?

Were you kind today? Did you love someone with your whole heart?  Did you tell them? 

The world doesn't need grand gestures. All it needs is small things, done with great love.  

So, did you make the world a better place today? If not, why not?  There is nothing stopping you.  So go, do something small, with great great love. 

This is Love

Voices raised.

Angry accusations and hurt feelings.

Sharp words that cut deep into the soul. 

This is love?

Aching loneliness. 

Silent tears soaking into the pillow.

Sleepless nights spent staring into the dark. 

This is love?

Great heaving sobs in the shower.

Arms wrapped around naked skin.

Hurt so heavy your body bows under the weight.  

This is love?

Facing your demons.

Owning your shit.

Speaking your truth. 

This is love. 

Trying harder. 

Asking for what you need. 

Coming back together.

This is love. 

Understanding.

Apologizing.

Forgiving. 

This is love. 

Even when it's hard. 

Even when it hurts. 

This is love. 

Plot Twist

Every day I go to work and I hear tragic stories of violence,  abuse and neglect. Every day I listen as people cry, parents and children, lost in pain and fear. Domestic violence,  substance use, childhood sexual molestation. I recognize these stories deep within because I've lived them. I've read this book over and over. But it is not my story I'm hearing. My story is different.  

Plot twist...I am not a victim. 

Plot twist... After 5 years of molestation,  I made him stop when I was 15 years old. 

Plot twist... I faced my attacker in court when I was 17.  And he was found guilty. 

Plot twist... I left home at 19 instead of living with the man who molested me. 

Plot twist... I didn't abort my baby when I was 21. 

Plot twist... at 24 I took three babies and left my husband when he started to be physically abusive. 

Plot twist... I immigrated to a foreign country when I was 27 to create distance between me and an abusive family. (Yes! America was very foreign.)

Plot twist... after losing everything in a messy divorce, I bought my own home when I was 40 and became a single parent of 7 children. 

Plot twist... at 45 I went to college and then graduated with a 4.0 GPA. 

Plot twist... my son died when I was 46 and I became even stronger,  braver and more compassionate. 

Plot twist... I got a job working with families who are dealing with abuse and neglect when I was 46. This is when I began hearing stories that broke my heart wide open. 

Plot twist... today I have a daily gratitude practice because every day I am reminded of where I came from and how hard I worked to change from victim,  to surviver,  to thriver. 

I wrote about being a good girl in a box and about breaking out of the box.  I often still feel confined by the box, the expectations placed on me by family and society.  I am constantly reminded of how I am supposed to behave, what is right and what is wrong. By whose standards am I supposed to live? Who has the right to impose their will on me?  

Plot twist... I am my own woman. I am powerful and brave. I have overcome poverty, abuse, loss, grief. I have navigated every challenge with grace and courage. I have consistently chosen love over fear. 

I hear those stories. I have read the book. But I'm writing a different story and my story is full of plot twists. In the end, this heroine lives happily ever after. 

Stupid, Stupid Girl

Oh you stupid stupid girl.

You believed him when he said he loved you,  didn't you? 

Sweet words and gentle kisses. 

Promises whispered in the dark of night. 

You stupid girl.  

Desperately hoping and wanting to believe. 

Stupid girl for ever thinking he could love you. 

Stupid girl for thinking he would pick you. 

Stupid little girl letting a man break your heart wide open.  

Stupid stupid girl for crying. 

Stupid girl. 

You know the next time he calls you will answer. 

And the next time you answer, he will hurt you again. 

But you, stupid girl, will keep hoping, keep believing, keep coming back for more. 

When does it end, you stupid little girl?  

When do you harden your heart? 

When do you turn your back and walk away? 

When do you decide you aren't playing his games anymore? 

Stupid little girl, believing in love and happily ever after. 

If being a stupid girl means holding on to hope, then yes, I am a stupid girl. 

If it means holding a soft open heart, I will gladly be stupid. 

If it means I leap into each new adventure and embrace all life has to offer, 

then call me a stupid girl. 

If it means I forgive over and over, even those things that are unforgivable,  

then I wouldn't want to live any other way. 

I will always chose love, compassion, hope, forgiveness and adventure over a bitter hard heart. 

If that makes me a stupid girl,  then I am proud to be stupid. 

I would never want to be anything else. 

Silent Superheroes

The world is full of silent superheroes.

Every day, they roll out of bed and put their pants on and then they quietly go about their business.

They choose to be kind when it would be easier to be cruel.

They choose to be patient when it would be easier to rush.

They choose to speak up when it would easier to stay silent.

They choose to forgive when it would be easier to stay angry.

They fall down and then choose to stand up again.

Superheros!

The single mother who tucks her littles into bed and then does her  homework late into the night.

The teacher who leaves her own children to spend all day with 20 others.

The addict who chooses recovery, no matter how hard it gets.

The divorced dad who pays his child support on time every month and shows up to watch a soccer game.

The grandma who cares for her grandchildren, even though she's already raised her own.

The firefighter who stands ready to serve and protect.

The boy that goes to work every day to pay off his student loans, when it would be easier to party.

The parents that teach their children,  by words and deeds, to be kind.

The husband who makes tea for his wife without being asked.

The sister that listens uncomplaining to another story.

The friend that drops everything and comes when called.

The child that offers to share with a stranger.

Silent superheroes speak gently.

Silent superheroes walk softly.

Silent superheroes love greatly.

Silent superheroes believe in you, when you don't believe in yourself.

They stand steadfast in the face of fear, remaining undaunted.

Silent superheros choose love, every day, when it would be easier to choose fear.

I am Unbreakable

Broken.

Beaten.

Sobbing.

Strong arms wrapped around me.

A voice whispered in my ear.

"You are strong."

"You are fierce."

"You are a warrior!"

In that moment I knew. I was not broken.

I was unbreakable.

Maybe the point isn't to get out, to run away from the pain and the fear and the  anger. Maybe you're supposed to sit with it, wallow in it. Maybe you're supposed to find a way to be comfortable with uncertainty and, even when it's hard, even when it hurts, choose love anyways.

Let go of the way you wanted others to treat you.  Let go of the expectations of what your life was supposed to look like and the way people were supposed to love you. 

Let go of expectations and show up with an open heart again and again.  

Be okay with your heart breaking as much as you're okay with your heart overflowing with love. They are two halves of a whole.

Life hurts and it's hard. It's ugly and messy. It's also outrageously beautiful. Don't get attached to either.

Today your heart hurts. Accept it.

Tomorrow your heart will be full of joy. Accept it.

The next day you will experience something else. Accept that too.

You are not entitled to peace or joy.

You are entitled to life, with all its messy challenges and glory.  Accept it.

When you can flow with the ups and downs of life, then you too will be unbreakable.

Who Am I?

Who am I?        The words beat in my brain over over and over. 

Who am I?        I don't know.

Who am I?        Whoever you want me to be.  

Who am I?        I can be anything,  anyone. 

Who am I?        Mold myself into whatever will make you love me. 

Who am I?        I search for the answer in your eyes.  

Who am I?        Without you I fade into nothing. 

Who am I?        Lost and alone. 

Who am I?        Worthless. 

Until one day I found myself, very alone, deep in the woods. Wading through streams. Losing a shoe in the mud. Clambering over tree trunks. Talking to the squirrels.  As the sun set among the trees and the streams sang their songs, I knew the answer. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who loves cows.  

Who am I?        I am a girl who loves to learn new things. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who dances in the kitchen. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who walks for miles. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who kisses pirates. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who collects rocks. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who sits by waterfalls. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who forgives quickly. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who overcomes. 

Who am I?        I am a girl who loves passionately. 

Who am I?        I am a girl with an unquenchable thirst for life. 

Because the adventure is always worth it.